Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devils foot; Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights Till Age snow white hairs on thee; Thou, when thou return'st wilt tell me All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear No where Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou find'st one let me know; Such a pilgrimage were sweet. Yet do not; I would not go, Though at next door we might meet. Though she were true when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two or three.
The terms of the curse have all been fulfilled at last: there's no holding back now. Cowardly or not, it's his moment to suck it up and be brave, and so he's ventured into the Waste. But this is more than putting an end to the Witch.
Sophie's out there, that stubbornly brave -- or is it that stupidly stubborn -- woman. She's completely, admirably, stubbornly out of control and out of her league and there's so little that frightens him any more but for the prospect of the Witch besting her. And so he takes great strides into the Waste and watches in some small amazement as a hole is blasted in the wall of the Witch's castle.
He waits... but not for long; Sophie's bound to a pillar and the Witch is battling...
...the scarecrow?
In a cloud of dust? This can't mean...
...but it does, and at first opportunity he leaps through the gap in the castle wall. Once inside, he takes a moment to watch the battle with his arms folded over his chest: one must strategize before jumping into the middle of a thing. Back and forth, the battle rages and then...
He lifts his sleeved arms and musters every bit of courage he has, and one long strange word comes out of his mouth. A roll of thunder accompanies it; both the Witch and the scarecrow jolt. Claps of sound echo round the pottery pillars of the Witch's stronghold; each clap takes away some of the magical cloud. It fades in wisps and eddies; once it becomes the thinnest white haze, the tall figure with the pigtail falters.
It's the Witch: without any emotion whatsoever Howl looks on as she simply seems to fold in on herself, thinner and whiter than ever. As the haze fades away completely, she falls into a heap with a clattering sound.
A million quiet echoes fade: he faces the scarecrow across a pile of bones.
Sophie's all loose except for her legs by the time Howl appears; progress halts, after that, because she's busy straining desperately to see what's going on. She's expecting another pitched wizard's battle, and she's not sure her heart will take it, but instead -
- instead there's the noise, and the haze, and then, quite suddenly, it's over.
Sophie can't seem to feel anything but relieved. She slashes her legs free and goes over to the headless figure of Prince Justin; it's been getting on her nerves all this while, and at least she's going to do anything about that. She takes off her shawl and starts to arrange it decently over the headless shoulders.
The scarecrow's in the middle of the pile of bones, pushing them this way and that with its leg. "No, my friend. You won't find her heart here. Her fire demon will have got that. I think it's had the upper hand of her for a long time now. Sad, really."
Sophie takes off her shawl, showing the most compassion he's ever seen from her as she drapes it across Prince Justin's headless shoulders.
"I think the rest of what you were looking for is over here." Moving towards the throne, he gestures for the scarecrow to join him.
And then he turns to Sophie -- he's glad she's all right, he really is -- but he doesn't quite smile. "Typical!" he tells her. "I break my neck to get here, and I find you peacefully tidying up!"
He looks as bad, or worse, as he had coming home early in the morning. He hasn't shaved, or combed his hair, and his eyes are red-rimmed with sleep loss. He hasn't even bothered to put on fresh clothes.
The day Howl forgets to do that will be the day I believe he's really in love, and not before, Michael had said, talking about Howl's usual morning two hours in the bathroom, and Sophie knows it must be true.
He must love Miss Angorian very much indeed, she thinks, heart aching, and tries to explain, "I came for Miss Angorian," so at least he'll know she understands.
Blast this woman: she never fails to upset his plans. She's so predictably unpredictable! "And I thought if I arranged for your family to visit you, it would keep you quiet for once! But no--"
He's cut off, however, by the scarecrow; it hops in front of Sophie. "I was sent by Wizard Suliman. I was guarding his bushes from the birds in the Waste when the Witch caught him." His voice is thin and mushy. "He cast all of his magic that he could spare on me, and ordered me to come to his rescue. But the Witch had taken him to pieces by then and the pieces were in various places. It has been a hard task. If you had not come and talked me to life again, I would have failed."
Howl listens intently: this is not his conversation. It belongs entirely to Sophie and the scarecrow, but that doesn't mean it's not more fascinating than he suspected it would -- or could -- be.
Sophie stares at the scarecrow for a moment, bewildered by the sudden barrage of information - it's nice of it to be helpful, but it's rather out of the blue - before realizing that it's answering the questions she'd asked it before they'd all rushed off to the Waste.
"So when Prince Justin ordered finding spells they must have kept pointing to you," she says, understanding. "Why was that?"
"To me, or to his skull," the scarecrow explains. "Between the two of us, we are the best part of him."
Poor Wizard Suliman! Sophie thinks, and then, thinking it through - wait, poor Lettie. "And Percival is made of Wizard Suliman and Prince Justin?"
It's fascinating to watch, and he realizes how rarely and how little he's seen Sophie in action. But the scarecrow continues, confirming his suspicions.
"Both parts told me that the Witch and her fire demon were no longer together and I could defeat the Witch on her own. I thank you for giving me back my former speed."
Howl's had enough: he waves the scarecrow aside. "Bring that body with you to the castle; I'll sort you out there. Sophie and I have to get back before that fire demon finds a way of getting inside my defenses." Reaching out, he grabs Sophie's frail thin wrist. "Come on. Where are those seven-league boots?"
"Don't you understand?" They need to be going and they need to do it now; he drags her forward. "Miss Angorian is the fire demon. If it gets inside the castle, then Calcifer's had it and so have I."
"Then it's still in there! Come on." He pulls Sophie over to the smashed wall before turning back to talk with the scarecrow. "Follow us carefully. I'm going to have to raise a wind!"
As they climb over the destroyed edges of the castle wall and into the hot sunlight, he turns to Sophie again. "No time to look for those boots. Just run. And keep running, or I won't be able to move you."
Run? Sophie's currently old bones barely allow her a brisk walk - but by relying heavily on her stick, she manages to break into a sort of hobbling jog, stumbling among the stones.
Most of her motion, though, is due to the way Howl keeps pulling her along, through the wind that whips up, hot and gritty; gray sand starts to swirl around them, but by that time they're not walking anymore but skimming across the surface of the desert.
The Waste starts to speed away below them. It's very noisy, and even less comfortable than the ride in that strange carriage in Wales, but they're moving fast, and Sophie finally catches enough of her breath to shout, "It's not Calcifer's fault! I told him not to say."
The wind picks up around them; this is not one of the quieter bits of magic he can do. He has to shout his reply so Sophie can hear it over the air's whistling.
"He wouldn't anyway! I knew he'd never give away a fellow fire demon. He was always my weakest flank."
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devils foot;
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights
Till Age snow white hairs on thee;
Thou, when thou return'st wilt tell me
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou find'st one let me know;
Such a pilgrimage were sweet.
Yet do not; I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet.
Though she were true when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two or three.
The terms of the curse have all been fulfilled at last: there's no holding back now. Cowardly or not, it's his moment to suck it up and be brave, and so he's ventured into the Waste. But this is more than putting an end to the Witch.
Sophie's out there, that stubbornly brave -- or is it that stupidly stubborn -- woman. She's completely, admirably, stubbornly out of control and out of her league and there's so little that frightens him any more but for the prospect of the Witch besting her. And so he takes great strides into the Waste and watches in some small amazement as a hole is blasted in the wall of the Witch's castle.
He waits... but not for long; Sophie's bound to a pillar and the Witch is battling...
...the scarecrow?
In a cloud of dust? This can't mean...
...but it does, and at first opportunity he leaps through the gap in the castle wall. Once inside, he takes a moment to watch the battle with his arms folded over his chest: one must strategize before jumping into the middle of a thing. Back and forth, the battle rages and then...
He lifts his sleeved arms and musters every bit of courage he has, and one long strange word comes out of his mouth. A roll of thunder accompanies it; both the Witch and the scarecrow jolt. Claps of sound echo round the pottery pillars of the Witch's stronghold; each clap takes away some of the magical cloud. It fades in wisps and eddies; once it becomes the thinnest white haze, the tall figure with the pigtail falters.
It's the Witch: without any emotion whatsoever Howl looks on as she simply seems to fold in on herself, thinner and whiter than ever. As the haze fades away completely, she falls into a heap with a clattering sound.
A million quiet echoes fade: he faces the scarecrow across a pile of bones.
The bones of the Witch of the Waste.
Fancy that.
Reply
- instead there's the noise, and the haze, and then, quite suddenly, it's over.
Sophie can't seem to feel anything but relieved. She slashes her legs free and goes over to the headless figure of Prince Justin; it's been getting on her nerves all this while, and at least she's going to do anything about that. She takes off her shawl and starts to arrange it decently over the headless shoulders.
Reply
Sophie takes off her shawl, showing the most compassion he's ever seen from her as she drapes it across Prince Justin's headless shoulders.
"I think the rest of what you were looking for is over here." Moving towards the throne, he gestures for the scarecrow to join him.
And then he turns to Sophie -- he's glad she's all right, he really is -- but he doesn't quite smile. "Typical!" he tells her. "I break my neck to get here, and I find you peacefully tidying up!"
Reply
He looks as bad, or worse, as he had coming home early in the morning. He hasn't shaved, or combed his hair, and his eyes are red-rimmed with sleep loss. He hasn't even bothered to put on fresh clothes.
The day Howl forgets to do that will be the day I believe he's really in love, and not before, Michael had said, talking about Howl's usual morning two hours in the bathroom, and Sophie knows it must be true.
He must love Miss Angorian very much indeed, she thinks, heart aching, and tries to explain, "I came for Miss Angorian," so at least he'll know she understands.
Reply
He's cut off, however, by the scarecrow; it hops in front of Sophie. "I was sent by Wizard Suliman. I was guarding his bushes from the birds in the Waste when the Witch caught him." His voice is thin and mushy. "He cast all of his magic that he could spare on me, and ordered me to come to his rescue. But the Witch had taken him to pieces by then and the pieces were in various places. It has been a hard task. If you had not come and talked me to life again, I would have failed."
Howl listens intently: this is not his conversation. It belongs entirely to Sophie and the scarecrow, but that doesn't mean it's not more fascinating than he suspected it would -- or could -- be.
Reply
"So when Prince Justin ordered finding spells they must have kept pointing to you," she says, understanding. "Why was that?"
"To me, or to his skull," the scarecrow explains. "Between the two of us, we are the best part of him."
Poor Wizard Suliman! Sophie thinks, and then, thinking it through - wait, poor Lettie. "And Percival is made of Wizard Suliman and Prince Justin?"
Lettie is not going to like that at all.
Reply
"Both parts told me that the Witch and her fire demon were no longer together and I could defeat the Witch on her own. I thank you for giving me back my former speed."
Howl's had enough: he waves the scarecrow aside. "Bring that body with you to the castle; I'll sort you out there. Sophie and I have to get back before that fire demon finds a way of getting inside my defenses." Reaching out, he grabs Sophie's frail thin wrist. "Come on. Where are those seven-league boots?"
Reply
"But Miss Angorian!" she protests, looking around frantically.
Reply
Time is of the essence.
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Wait, what?
Sophie's first frantic, unjust thought is trust Howl to fall in love with a fire demon!
But of course he's not in love with Miss Angorian, he can't have been; and if he's not in love with Miss Angorian, then -
And here she is sidetracked by a sudden horrified realization, and she gasps, pulling both hands over her mouth (and Howl's hand up with her wrist.)
"Oh, I knew I'd make a mess of it! It's been in twice already! But she - it went out."
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In fact, he's exactly that sort, but there's little time for it now. All he can do is groan. "Oh, lord! Did it touch anything?"
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"- the guitar," she remembers. She'd been so angry, and she hadn't even thought -
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As they climb over the destroyed edges of the castle wall and into the hot sunlight, he turns to Sophie again. "No time to look for those boots. Just run. And keep running, or I won't be able to move you."
Reply
Most of her motion, though, is due to the way Howl keeps pulling her along, through the wind that whips up, hot and gritty; gray sand starts to swirl around them, but by that time they're not walking anymore but skimming across the surface of the desert.
The Waste starts to speed away below them. It's very noisy, and even less comfortable than the ride in that strange carriage in Wales, but they're moving fast, and Sophie finally catches enough of her breath to shout, "It's not Calcifer's fault! I told him not to say."
Reply
"He wouldn't anyway! I knew he'd never give away a fellow fire demon. He was always my weakest flank."
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